By David E. Sharp
People are uncomfortable with the unknown.
I’m not talking about the big unknowns, aliens, ghosts, or Bigfoot sightings. That stuff gives us no problem. Slap it on a T-shirt and toss it in a novelty boutique for three times its worth, and people can’t wait to throw their money at you.
People are uncomfortable with the everyday unknown.
Disruptions to our comfortable assumptions. Like when a neighbor invites your family to a backyard barbecue, and you borrow their bathroom. Then, as you reach for the toilet paper, you discover they insert the roll reverse from how you do it. And your nerves catch in your throat as you think, “I’ve got to get out of here. Where are the children? I’ve left them out there alone with these monsters!”
Yeah, we’ve all been there.
A decade ago, I worked in a library down in Texas. The city had a population of 130,000 voracious readers and one very popular library. The summer reading program was magnificent mayhem. To keep things running smoothly, we brought a team of volunteers to handle signup, prize redemption, FAQs, and friendly faces. We gave them a series of tables in our central gallery decked out with banners, balloons, and prize bins. It was massive!
But, apparently, not massive enough.
The whole setup was invisible from the staff desk at the main entrance. A pair of pillars, not huge but placed just right, blocked the entire literary bacchanalia from view. Two steps forward, your sightlines would change, and the vibrant exhibition would welcome you into its sway. But convincing people to take those two extra steps while being chained to a desk was an experience that verged on the evangelical.
The conversations usually went like this:
Patron- Hi, we’re new in town and wanted to get our kids signed up for the summer reading program.
Me- Great! We have a signup table in our gallery just behind me. Head on back, and they’ll take care of the rest.
Patron- Where did you say it was?
Me- It’s behind me, in the gallery. Just walk that way, and you will definitely find it.
Patron- I don’t see it.
Me- You can’t see it now. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Everything will become visible to you when you start walking that way.
Patron- (Bites lip. Looks around again.) There’s nothing there.
Me (feeling like a wizard in a game of DnD)- I know it seems that way now. And it will remain hidden as long as you stand here. Only when you begin taking steps will the way present itself to you.
Patron- Do you have anyone who can walk me to the summer reading signup table?
Me- (Glances around at the ensuing chaos.)
The other members of my order instruct the people on computer use or otherwise tend to the community’s needs. And I must continue aiding the people here. This is a journey you must take on your own. Do not be afraid. Also, watch the carpet there. A kid just puked earlier, and it’s still drying.
Patron- (Takes one step) Nope! I still don’t see it.
Me- You’ve only taken one step. You must have enough faith for two steps before you will find the answers you seek.
Patron- I still don’t see what you are talking about.
Me- Take one more step before you decide.
Patron- (hesitantly) All right. (steps) Oh, there it is. Wow, that’s big and colorful. It’s so glorious! I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
Me- And now that you know, you must tell others where they too can find the summer reading signup table, lest I should be subjected unto this same conversation from them.
We don’t like making progress toward goals we cannot see.
Developing a clear vision of your destination makes sense before you set off. What fools would start treading down a road with blind hope it will lead them where they want to go? We have an intrinsic understanding that we need to know our objectives before we can set out to achieve them.
As writers, we have objectives, too. We set goals and map out the process we intend to use to reach those goals. These are all excellent practices, and you should absolutely do them. You won’t get far without making attainable goals, celebrating your little victories, and defining what constitutes success.
But . . .
Writing is a strange beast. And there comes a day when the goals could be more explicit, the path is unmarked, and you cannot tell which way is forward. Writer’s block sets in, imposter syndrome rears its ugly head, and you find yourself holding a manuscript with no direction. These days, our tendencies to visualize goals and plot courses get in the way. If we cannot see the end result, we do not know how to reach it.
So, we stop. We sit still and wait for inspiration to take us by the hand and say, “Here. It’s this way.” But inspiration does not come. We entomb our story in a pinewood drawer with an inscription marking it, “Someday.”
Don’t lose your manuscript to Someday.
We must let go of our need for understanding in times like these. We will only make progress when we start taking steps. Brush off that computer. Close those social media tabs. March straight into inspiration’s house, rip the video game controller out of its hand, and tell it, “Dude! Where were you? We were supposed to meet up!” And don’t buy it when inspiration tries to pull off the old, “Whaaat? Was that todaaay?”
For writers, the only wrong direction is no direction. Let the story guide you. Follow the falling dominos of weird events and see where they lead you. Even writing something horrible can get you out of a rut. Knowing what you don’t want for your story gives you insight into what you do want. And you may wind up with something you like or a new angle to develop. Whatever you do, don’t stop writing.
There really is a story out there. I know you can’t see it now, but it awaits you. You won’t find it if you stay here. As you begin taking steps of faith, the way will be clear to you.
The Writing Bug 